The Unseen Hand

No sooner had the Zombie Mage’s words faded than a shriek erupted from the half-blood maiden behind him.

Only then did Gwynevere realize the assailant wasn’t targeting her at all. She swiftly turned, sweeping her staff backward, and the ice-blue runes nestled between the fingers of her left hand blazed with an even more brilliant light, amplified by the sea crystal.

Around Daphne, ice crystals began to coalesce, swiftly weaving into a translucent barrier. This protective ice wall formed just in time, as the sharp bone claws of the undead and the rotting teeth of the ghouls struck its frosty surface, leaving only faint cracks.

Gwynevere had been clutching the ‘Frost Barrier’ rune, originally intending to use it against a sneak attack from the Zombie Mage. Now, however, she was compelled to deploy it to protect the half-blood girl.

This girl might very well be the last clue to finding the Pope, and Gwynevere would not abandon her easily.

She had already wasted two days and nights wandering this area like a headless chicken, and the morale of the entire expedition team had plummeted. The letter sent to Salentz was still en route, but this bombshell news would undoubtedly ignite the religious world of the Empire, making unrest inevitable.

Gwynevere did not wish for any of this to happen. At the very least, she hoped her godfather would return safely.

Seeing Daphne temporarily safe, Gwynevere’s tense emotions eased somewhat. Yet, true sneak attacks were often silent, and grand displays were merely a means to divert attention.

Seizing the moment Gwynevere turned, malevolent magic energy of the fel attribute coalesced behind her. A whip of black and purple swiftly constructed itself in mid-air, lashing down with a terrifying, whistling sound as it tore through the air.

Distracted by this insidious maneuver, Gwynevere had no time to cast ‘Frost Barrier’ again. When she turned back, she found the fel whip already descending upon her head.

But the whip failed to land on Gwynevere.

A small skeleton, both comical in appearance and movement, had somehow climbed onto her right shoulder. As its slightly raucous low howl echoed, black and purple runes flowed from between its bony teeth, dissolving into the air before generating a translucent energy barrier.

The two fel energies collided fiercely at the point where the whip met the barrier, causing Gwynevere’s cloak and long hair to billow from the impact.

After deflecting the attack, the palm-sized skeleton on her shoulder disintegrated, collapsing into a heap of lifeless white bone fragments that scattered onto the snow.

‘Whose trick was this?’, Gwynevere wondered.

The Saintess turned back, filled with questions, only to find a frost barrier remaining in place. On the other side of the wall, the undead and ghouls that had touched the ice were now completely encased in thick frost. The half-blood maiden, however, was gone, and black-purple smoke permeated the shadows cast by the surrounding pine trees.

‘More frost,’ Gwynevere noted.

She observed the skeletons and ghouls frozen near the ice wall. Much like the pine tree that had become covered in frost after being leaned against, the half-blood maiden’s cloak possessed an extraordinary effect.

And then there was this black smoke.

A transcendent follower of the Shadow Path had successfully drawn a rune and vanished into the shadows during the brief moment of chaos. While the Path of Radiance offered many ways to draw her out, Gwynevere was not yet proficient in them.

Gwynevere couldn’t shake the feeling that this half-blood was deliberately feigning weakness. Could it be that she herself was the one who had fallen into a trap?

‘This is no time for such thoughts. The enemy is still before me, unresolved. I cannot afford to be distracted or expose any more weaknesses.’

Yet, when Gwynevere refocused her attention on the Necromancer, she found the fellow utterly terrified. He glanced around frantically, cautiously guarding against something, his trembling legs slowly backing away.

“That rune, I saw it… You are, you are Lord Arsuga’s Death Emissary!? Why… why!?”

It was as if his fervent faith and conviction had crumbled upon witnessing the vast disparity between truth and imagination. The Necromancer’s lifeless, decaying eyes were now filled with fear and doubt.

These words were certainly not directed at Gwynevere. She was self-aware enough to know she didn’t even understand what a “Death Emissary” was. However, judging by the Necromancer’s reaction, this emissary of Arsuga undoubtedly held a high position in Klogotia.

“This, too, is part of the Great Lord’s plan, foolish mage. Your reckless interference desecrates and obstructs the Great Lord’s grand vengeance.”

A low female voice echoed from the shadows. The black smoke drifted among the swaying tree shadows, making her seem omnipresent in the twilight.

“I… I don’t understand…” The Necromancer had completely lost his earlier arrogance, now resembling a bewildered, helpless child who had done wrong. “I only wished to… to share in the Great Lord’s concerns…”

“Then die here,” the female voice said coldly, as the black-purple fel whip extended from the tree shadows, binding the Necromancer’s limbs. “Your greatest value to the Great Lord is to vanish from this world.”

The Necromancer suddenly seemed to find peace, as if he had actually believed the near-mad slander. A look of relief spread across his face. “If it is the Great Lord’s command—”

“Pfft—” However, the seemingly profound female voice couldn’t maintain her composure and burst into laughter. “Your Highness the Saintess, don’t say I didn’t warn you. There won’t be a next time if you miss this opportunity.”

Gwynevere had actually been secretly drawing runes all along; she was not so foolish as to merely stand by and watch.

Upon hearing the warning, Gwynevere immediately pressed the flame-red rune on her fingertip onto the frost-covered sea crystal staff’s tip. The light of the fire-attribute arcane energy blazed with blinding intensity.

Vatitaya’s blessing had granted the Saintess the paths of ‘Blaze’ and ‘Radiance’. She was a naturally gifted caster of fire-attribute arcane arts; ice magic was a skill she had acquired later.

Against the undead, fire and holy light were clearly more effective.

“You tricked me!?” The Necromancer only then realized he had been fooled, yet the death rune he had seen was genuine. “But that rune was clearly—”

“You have good eyes, you weren’t mistaken. That is the Great Lord’s death rune.” Leaving only the fel whip to hold the Necromancer in place, the shadow snatched the white bone staff that had fallen from his hand. As she left, she whispered to the Necromancer, “And I didn’t lie to you. You’ve been a great help. Thank you.”

Watching the shadow gradually recede along the forest’s tree line, the Necromancer seemed to understand something. His expression shifted from mortified anger back to relief and liberation. “If I can create an opportunity for the Death Emissary’s escape…”

Gwynevere, standing opposite him, had no interest in this fool’s ever-changing expressions. A columnar whirlwind of flames erupted from the staff’s tip, instantly engulfing the Necromancer’s upper body and head.

Amidst the fiery snow, ashes smoldered.